


Grounded

by ScooterThyme



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angel Wings, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reveal, canon divergent at 3x02, it's like whack-a-mole back there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14021832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScooterThyme/pseuds/ScooterThyme
Summary: The Detective shows up at Lucifer's penthouse immediately after he has, once again, cut off his wings.





	1. Chapter 1

He’d stopped counting, after the third or fourth time, because the increasing numbers only served to infuriate him that much more. Cutting the damned things off _himself_ required an obscene amount of concentration, and even emotional distractions made the process more difficult than it already was.

The deed done, he finished collapsing on the floor of his en-suite. Despite how many times he’d been through this, it never got any easier, especially alone. He knew the routine by now, and any moment his body would start heading in the direction of shock. The shivery sweats, the shaking, along with a bit of very undignified crying (completely involuntary, of course). On the one hand, he did miss Maze’s help from the first time around, years ago. She didn’t actually know what to _do_ in the aftermath, but she nursed him as best she could, and it made the whole ordeal more bearable. On the other hand… well, nobody had to witness him in this disgraceful a state.

Lucifer concentrated on controlling his breathing--he knew enough about humans to realize that what worked for them would occasionally work for angels in some circumstances. Once he could get his breathing back to normal, everything else would follow suit. He just needed a half hour or so, not all that long...

The elevator door dinged, and the Devil’s breath caught in his throat.

He’d told his crew downstairs not to let anyone up under _any_ circumstances for the next two hours. With his body in shock and his mind in a panic, he couldn’t imagine who would've been able to slip past security. He stared at the floor, unable to do anything but try to keep his breath quiet. A few seconds passed, and he heard light footsteps heading into his living room. It really didn’t matter who the intruder was. He was in absolutely no position to do anything at all about it, let alone try to defend himself if needed. His body was trembling almost uncontrollably now.

“Lucifer?”

Oh.

 _Of course_ it would be the Detective. He’d almost forgotten… she was the only one apart from Maze that he’d given complete clearance to. The staff would’ve let her right up without blinking, overriding any secondary orders he gave them, just as instructed. _Damn!_

Of all the humans on the planet, the Detective was quite possibly the last one he’d wish to encounter in his current condition. Not only did he actually have increasing difficulty with his emotions around her lately, there was also the whole problem of trying to explain exactly why his bathroom shared an eerie similarity to a crime scene at the moment, with him being the obvious victim. It took all the energy he could muster to simply stay silent, and hope that she gave up and left.

“Lucifer? I thought you were going to drive with me to go and meet that new witness we found this morning.” She sighed, not quite angry, but obviously thin on patience. “Fine. I guess I’ll just meet you there. We could probably use your mojo _thing_ on this guy, if you’re willing to be helpful.”

Her footsteps left the room again, and the elevator door closed.

Lucifer let a shuddering breath go, surprised at how many unintentional tears he’d shed over the past couple of minutes. A genuine sob escaped his throat, and he laid his head down on the cold stone tile floor. Despite his relief at staying hidden, he also felt longing and loss with the Detective’s departure. No, he wouldn’t have wanted her to see him like this. But at the same time, he knew that she would have been compassionate. Would have tried to help him. Would have _cared._ Part of him wished he’d called out to her, regardless of the fallout it would have certainly caused later. He supposed it didn't really matter--he wasn't sure he'd even had the strength to do so at the time. Her presence made things difficult in more ways than one.

The extra effort to hide himself from his partner took its toll on the fallen angel. He forgot about his routine. Forgot about the blood flowing from his back, the mutilated wings on the floor, and the now-rusting demon blades on the counter. Exhausted, Lucifer closed his eyes and let sleep take him. His dreams were full of white feathers, and of Chloe.


	2. Chapter 2

Amongst all the things the Devil was feeling, confusion was the only one he was absolutely certain of. Everything else was up for debate, and firmly fell into the category of “pesky human emotions.” Lucifer sat still as a statue on Dr. Linda Martin’s couch, more than willing to let her make the first move for today’s installment of Celestial Therapy 101.

Linda leaned forward in her chair and eyed him with concern. He looked off, even by Lucifer’s standards, which generally meant something big had happened. Well, big in the sense that he’d encountered another mental state that was entirely new to his angelic brain, and had no idea what to do about it. It would’ve been far more fascinating to her as a therapist if she hadn’t broken the rules and become friends with him. She was usually more of a guide, pointing out signs her patients may or may not care to take note of. But with Lucifer, she’d somehow hailed a cab and was following his journey much closer, despite the countless exits and detours he took almost daily.

The doctor sighed and mentally tried to center herself. This wasn’t going to be a good session, and she could feel it before either of them had even spoke.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about today?”

“Not really, to be entirely honest, although I suppose that would defeat the whole purpose of my being here in the first place.” Lucifer kept his eyes uncharacteristically down, not really looking at anything. He actually seemed nervous.

“Ok, then… how about we talk about your wings? Have had any new thoughts about them recently?”

Lucifer’s eyes snapped up to meet Linda’s, all but fearful.

“No, nothing new. I still hate the bloody things. I still refuse to accept them. They’re a burden, another form of punishment from dear old _Dad,_ and absolutely nothing more.” He was clearly angry, but there wasn’t much actual force behind his statement. Linda grew even more concerned.

“You’re still cutting them off whenever they grow back, aren’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Lucifer looked up at her briefly, his gaze telling her all she needed to know.

“Lucifer, you can’t keep doing this. I’m worried, not only as your therapist, but as your friend. You’re literally hurting yourself--basically _punishing_ yourself--and it’s very unhealthy. Is there any way you could look at the situation differently? See your wings as something other than a punishment, maybe? I don’t like seeing you hurting like this, especially when it’s preventable.”

“Yes. Well, I was nearly caught red-handed in the act yesterday, so I suppose I could consider that an even less pleasant angle than the one I’m already dealing with.” He looked truly guilty, which was more than unsettling for the Devil himself.

The therapist blinked in surprise. “Someone _saw_ you cut your wings off?”

“Not quite, but they very nearly witnessed the gruesome aftermath. It would’ve been extremely embarrassing, what with the mess it entails. Which reminds me, I really should give my housekeeper a raise…” His gaze trailed off into the distance, along with his thoughts.

“Well… How would you feel if someone _had_ witnessed you? You clearly aren’t comfortable with the idea.”

Lucifer sat up, going on the offensive. “Doctor, I am many things, but I am _not_ a masochist. This doesn’t make me happy, to be repeatedly chopping my own limbs off! I can’t imagine many people would actually enjoy the show.”

“Neither can I. But can you imagine what someone would say if they did see you? What do you think their reaction would be?”

“I’m sure they’d say something akin to what you’re saying, and tell me to stop because I’m being a _naughty Devil,”_ he mocked. The subject matter was not what he’d hoped for, and the conversation was going places he wished to stay far away from. He wasn’t going to tolerate it much longer. He shifted uncomfortably on the well worn couch.

“What would the person that almost walked in on you say?”

Lucifer’s eyes slowly widened, almost as if in panic. He couldn’t focus on Linda, knowing that she’d see straight into him, so he focused on one of her degrees framed on the wall behind her. She probably knew, anyway. Rarely did anybody pull emotions out of him like Chloe Decker, and rarely did he care about what most other people thought about him.

Linda could see Lucifer processing things, and knew this was the point in the session he would either have the completely wrong epiphany, or skulk out in a huff. She couldn’t figure out which he was aiming for this time, though. It really was like flipping a coin when it came to him.

Instead, he sat on the couch for a good two minutes more. It didn’t feel right to interrupt his thoughts, and she knew that sometimes a quiet time and space to think helped some patients (well, her more typical human ones, at least). Lucifer finally gave the smallest of sighs, stood up, and straightened his suit jacket. He still looked unsettlingly remorseful, but had clearly determined the session was over.

“Good day, Doctor.” A very slight bow, and he left.

“I’m still here as your friend, Lucifer, if you want to talk off the record sometime,” Linda called after him.

He frowned, but didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written anything with more than one chapter! Achievement unlocked! Thanks to the commenters--I never would've done it without all your glorious peer pressure.
> 
> I wasn't so sure about finding Linda's character and voice, but I hope she doesn't seem too far off. I felt like she needed to weigh in on this, as much as Lucifer would even let her.


	3. Chapter 3

Usually, the Devil was pretty good about impulse control--when he wanted to be, anyway. But this was different. Rarely did anything ever gnaw on his consciousness as much as having his wings unceremoniously slapped back on. He’d started to notice, he thought, when they came back now. There’d be a very slight tingling sensation, as if the skin around where his scars used to be had fallen asleep, but only just barely. Usually it happened when he was busy, and moving around, so he didn’t catch it. But he’d actually been waiting for it lately. He barely slept, and managed to catch it in the wee hours of the morning one day.

Lucifer had tossed and turned, furious that this kept happening _again,_ and that he couldn’t figure out any other way to deal with it. He finally gave up on sleep entirely, got half dressed, and padded out to his personal bar for the first of several shots. Might as well start his removal routine one more time, before trying to tackle the issue differently. He couldn’t get his mind clear enough right now, what with so many damned feathers heaped on top of it. His shoulder muscles tensed.

A spare set of Maze’s blades. An industrial-sized order of shop towels in the bathroom. Two hours’ time set aside. A few (probably useless) breathing exercises to prepare. One more giant, heartfelt middle finger thrust up to the sky, accompanied by a glare that would make any mortal back away in horror.

“I can all but hear you laughing, you know! You sadistic bastard…” Lucifer gave a dry chuckle. “I should’ve known you’d be able to figure out yet _one more way_ of torturing me.”

He knelt on the towel covered floor, using a nearby cabinet as leverage to help push his arms to reach the awkward position needed. Maze would’ve made the cuts clean and quick, but Lucifer was at a distinct disadvantage by himself. Embarrassing, to say the least. It took him a few minutes to slice through the bones of his wings, and it prolonged the pain exponentially.

He was one of the strongest beings in Creation, but he had to rest between sides. Destroying Divinity was not meant to be easy. Panting, he sank further down to the floor and closed his eyes. His breathing evened out after about five minutes, and he gingerly pushed himself back up to sit on his knees. One down, one to go. Twisting his arms back behind himself again, he pushed against the cabinet, and got to work. It would be over soon enough, and then he could come up with a better--easier--way to deal with this nonsense.

The blade clattered to the floor, and the Devil fell after it. This time seemed different. He didn’t know whether it was his resolve, or perhaps a cumulative effect on his strength. Maybe he was just tired in general… but that didn’t make sense either. His annoying celestial metabolism didn’t really get affected that way. Then again, he was the only angel to have ever hacked off his own wings, so he supposed this was uncharted territory. Perhaps even Dad was making up the rules in real time on this.

Brain fog from the pain and blood loss started to set in. It was a very strange sensation to the Devil, and he had a newfound appreciation for humans’ descriptions of pain from it. He sat sideways on his hip, leaning against the counter, waiting for it to pass. He had a pretty decent sense of time. Worry teased at the edge of his mind when he realized it had been nearly an hour since he moved.

Just as he felt he was starting to come back to himself again, the elevator dinged.

“Hey, Lucifer, I--”

_Oh for Dad’s sake, the Detective again._

Wait. She’d stopped in the middle of her greeting. Why? What had gotten her attention? He knew she couldn’t see him from where she must be standing. He heard her shifting her position. Shit. He’d been extremely careful not to let anything at all look out of the ordinary. It had to be a wayward feather. There was nothing else it could be. _Shit!_

“Look, if you’ve got... _visitors..._ that’s fine, I’ll… I’ll just come back another time. Text me when you’re free from… whatever.”

Lucifer held his breath, again, hoping she would give up. Hoping she would never be more a part of his celestial mess than she already was. Hoping to preserve that innocence forever.

A last, lingering stab of pain shot across his back, clearly amplified by the Detective’s presence. Caught off guard, he couldn’t stop himself. He did manage to keep his voice quiet, but it wasn’t enough to prevent the panicked yelp that forced its way out. It was half pain, all fear.

“Lucifer?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know this is super short even compared to the other chapters, but I felt it was a good [evil] stopping place.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies this took longer than expected! The Devil can be a bit uncooperative when it comes to those pesky human feelings, you know. I hope you all enjoy the final installment. <3

For all his eons of existence, Lucifer had never been so terrified in his entire life. There was no going back now--Chloe was finally about to understand who he really was, and then would come the rejection. Maybe she would scream and run away. Or perhaps she would yell at him for not proving it sooner, and leading her on all this time. Either way, it would far overshadow the physical pain he was already in. Not to mention whatever emotional harm it might do to turn her entire universal view completely upside down.

The Detective’s footsteps got closer as she looked around the penthouse. To Lucifer’s ears, they may as well have been gunshots. Any moment now would come the storm.

Chloe Decker gasped as she finally came upon the prone form of her partner covered in blood on his bathroom floor, surrounded by the remains of his divinity.

Normally one to immediately take charge of any situation, it was several moments before the Detective could shake off the shock of the scene. Quickly but carefully stepping into the room, she put a trembling hand on the back of Lucifer’s head. The touch felt almost like an electric shock to him, and his exhausted body spasmed and groaned in response.

“ _Lucifer!!_ Oh my god, what happened? Can you hear me? Why are there feathers all...” The Detective’s voice quietly trailed off, despite her sense of urgency. Obviously not needing to check for a pulse, she knelt down on the towels in front of her partner and instead twisted her body to try and see his face. She lightly stroked his cheek, one hand still on the back of his head.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Detective. I never meant for… for you to see me,” he stammered, his breath hitching every few words.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s OK. I’ll get you some help, and then you can tell me what’s going on later. I need to make sure you’re safe first,” she soothed. Her hand stroked the edges of his hair. She started to reach for her phone.

“No. No… please, Detective…”

“Lucifer, you’re seriously hurt, you can’t--”

“Please _stop_ , you’re just making it worse!” said Lucifer, with much more anger and force than Chloe thought he was capable of, given his current state.

She froze, obviously unsure of what to do now that her clearly reasonable plans were being so forcefully rejected. Lucifer finally opened his eyes now. Tears shed across his face, and he refused to look directly at hers. _Let the other shoe drop, Dad, please get this bloody over with already._

Even with all of Chloe’s experience, she had never seen such a frightened look on anyone’s face before. It wasn’t fear for his health, or fear of a person. This was emotional fear, probably irrational, and easily just as important to him as whatever had happened physically. Maybe even more so.

Against all her training and better judgement, the Detective sighed and found herself saying, “Talk to me, please. You need help. I’m here, tell me what you want me to do, Lucifer.” Rarely was anything straightforward or standard with Lucifer, and she silently asked herself why on earth she thought this might be any different.

“I want you to stop with the charade of pretending to care about the mess you’ve just encountered,” Lucifer blurted, and then coughed with the effort. His back spasmed, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as the previous time. Chloe returned to stroking his hair.

“Well, that’s not going to happen, because it’s not true. You know I care for you. I have no idea what’s going on here, but you obviously need help, regardless of whatever weirdness you’ve gotten yourself into now. And if you don’t give me a damn good reason not to in the next five seconds, I’m going to call an ambulance.” More of the shock had worn off, replaced by her usual confidence.

Lucifer replied with a shuddering sigh. “Fine then. I need you to leave because you make me vulnerable. And no, not just in an emotional sense. You literally make me more susceptible to physical harm, and subsequently make it take longer to heal. You know I won’t lie to you, but I hardly expect you to believe a single word out of my mouth whilst I’m in the middle of what probably looks like one of your crime scenes. Not that you’ve ever believed me anyway.” He continued to make a point of not looking at her.

“Besides, what exactly would paramedics do for severed angel wings? You can’t really go after that with a bandage…” He gave a hollow chuckle.

She stopped stroking his hair, resting her hand on the back of his neck. She sighed. Again.

“Y’know, I wouldn’t even consider this with anyone else, but fine. You have a point. I have no idea what I’d even tell a paramedic about this, and obviously nothing you say would be very helpful either.”

“You’re taking all of this exceedingly well, Detective, and I am morbidly curious as to why you’re still sitting here in a pool of my blood.”

Finally, Lucifer looked at her. Straight into her eyes. She’d never be able to explain exactly what she saw in them then, but it hit her straight down to her very soul. This was her partner. Eccentric and irritating beyond belief, yes. Mysterious in ways she’d given up trying to understand, absolutely. But also the most loyal and caring partner in his own fashion, willing to risk far more than asked in the most random of scenarios. He was a dear friend currently in pain, with immense underlying fear, and in that moment her heart broke for him. She wasn’t even aware of the single tear that escaped.

Lucifer was. That lone tear meant more to him than all the world. It meant _she wasn’t afraid of him_.

“If you think I’m going to leave you alone here like this, you’re crazy,” said the Detective. Her voice hitched slightly, and she didn’t try to hide it. “You’re the best damn partner I’ve ever had, and my friend. I’m going to help whether you like it or not, so… so get talking. Tell me what to do.”

 

* * *

 

Shoving the bloodied wings aside and ignoring them--for the time being--Chloe helped Lucifer get cleaned up and changed into fresh pants. Both were surprised at how quickly he had stopped bleeding, but neither brought it up. Lucifer was still fairly unsteady, though he couldn’t say whether it was from physical or emotional shock, and Chloe let him lean on her as they made their way out to one of the couches. He sat down gingerly, arranging himself so that his back didn’t touch the upholstery. Chloe stood and observed him for several moments before sitting down next to him.

“Are you OK, Lucifer?”

“Well, I actually do feel much better, although it doesn’t make any sense, what with you still here.”

“I’m going to try and not take that as an insult.”

“That’s not what I meant, Detective. I tried explaining my mortality to you, but--”

“Lucifer, stop,” she said, shaking her head and putting a hand over his own, “I _get_ it now. I _do_. I’ve put all the clues together every which way, and all the weirdness that happens around you, and today I stopped trying to find an alternate explanation. You’ve been telling me since day one, and I’ve exhausted every other possibility that you aren’t who you say you are. Even as a detective, I'm still human, and I _can_ get blinded on occasion if I don’t really want to see something I don’t understand.”

Lucifer blinked, and his jaw dropped open slightly.

“You mean… you believe me? That I’m the Devil?”

“I believe you.”

“And yet, you’re still here. Trying to help me.”

“You’re still my partner. That hasn’t changed.”

“Well, not as long as you’ll still have me, no. That will never change if you don’t want it to. You have my word, Detective. The _Devil's_ word, as it were.” His eyes were all but popping out of his head. “You must have questions.”

“Well, yeah, of course I do. I don’t even know where to begin! But I think what’s important right now is you recovering so you can explain everything later.” She patted her hand on his and gave a sad smile. “No offense, but you kind of look like hell right now.” She couldn’t suppress the slight chuckle that followed.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, actually.” That sly little smile she was used to made its return. “Whereas _you_ , m’dear, look heavenly.”

Chloe’s own smile finally reached her eyes. She patted his hand again, playfully this time. “C’mon, you. Let’s get you settled so you can get some rest. Do you want to stay propped up on the couch here? I’ll go grab a blanket.”

When the Detective returned, she helped Lucifer arrange himself comfortably, while still being wary of his back. She carefully draped the blanket over him and started to back away when he reached out and took her hand.

“Don’t go, please.”

“I wasn’t going to leave, I’ll just be over here in the chair--”

“ _Please_.”

Again, Chloe saw something in Lucifer’s eyes that she couldn’t explain, but could distinctly feel. After a pause, she gave a slight nod, and toed off her shoes. She sat on the couch next to him, drawing her feet up under her. He started shifting the blanket, and she settled it over the both of them. The last thing Lucifer knew before he fell asleep was the intense blue of Chloe’s eyes on him, and a light tingling across his skin. He dreamt of the clear sky he frequented when he was young.

 

* * *

 

Lucifer was surprised when he woke up.

Surprised the Detective was still there, surprised that somehow she’d ended up dozing on his shoulder with his arms wrapped around her, and even more surprised that he wasn’t in any pain anymore. None at all. Absolutely none of it made any sense. He decided to ignore the latter issue for the moment, because everything else about the scenario was pretty perfect, even by his own standards.

Somehow, his Detective had actually accepted who he really was. She hadn’t run, or yelled, or apparently rejected him at all. It almost seemed as though nothing had changed, even though everything had. If he hadn’t been so happy in the moment, he’d still have been expecting a fallout to come. His partner began to stir in his arms, and he gave her a light squeeze. She hummed.

“Hello, Detective.”

“Hello Lucifer.”

They stayed cuddled together for a minute or two longer. Chloe pushed herself away briefly, just long enough to stretch her arms, and then resettled back into the Devil’s embrace.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m doing rather divine, actually. How are _you_ doing, darling?” said Lucifer, gently caressing one of her arms.

“Well… like you said, I’ve got some questions.”

“Of course you do. Ask away, I’ll explain everything as best I can.”

“OK, so... you’re not _actually_ into cosplay then, are you…?” It was more of a statement, and the smile that followed broke the ice in the best way possible. It was mirrored on her partner’s alleviated face, and the Devil laughed.


End file.
